


Coming Down With Something Called Love

by Wizard95



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic, cheesy long fic title is cheesy and long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard95/pseuds/Wizard95
Summary: Guillermo is tired and has a cold. Nandor is surprisingly understanding.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	Coming Down With Something Called Love

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet born of a [tumblr prompt](https://smuggsy.tumblr.com/post/628654361965445121/prompt-value-me-a-drabble-about-one-character) to ease myself into this fandom.  
> Aw, these two goofballs. Gotta love.

It’s been a particularly tough week for Guillermo. In between his house cleaning duties and body-burying duties and grocery duties… well. He’s managed to catch a pretty nasty cold. Undoubtedly from his time spent outside under the heavy falling of snow trying to draw the corpses out of the house.

Out of the _main entrance_ of the house.

He almost tripped over one of those students as well when he first got in today, packs of gardening supplies for Laszlo blocking his view of anything that wasn’t the ceiling.

Because apparently he’s Laszlo and Nadja’s little servant now, as well. Because they aren’t competent enough to procure themselves a decent familiar that doesn’t end up butchered one way or another in the span of a week. And they can’t even be bothered to leave their corpses lying somewhere they don’t turn into a death trap, either. 

_Of course_ they don’t care.

They’re vampires.

Can’t die of a broken neck, a vampire.

He, on the other hand…

”Come off, come _off_ you little– pleeease!” he scrubs and scrubs, feeling cold and hot all at the same time, kneeling down and holding onto that little piece of now carmine-coloured fabric a little bit too enthusiastically.

He can’t hold in a nasty cough as he wipes what’s left of the blood from the wooden planks. He thinks he hears Nandor’s voice coming from the dormitory, but he stays down and ignores him.

Hell, the sun has barely gone down and he feels like shit.

He can’t deal with his master’s childish predicaments when he’s barely holding himself upright.

“Guillermooooo!”

Yeah.

As if.

“I’m coming, master!”

And he pushes himself up with a heave and walks his way to Nandor’s room in auto-pilot.

He could do it with his eyes closed, probably.

Ah, if only he _could_ just close his eyes, lie down in bed… Just have a little nap.

“Guillermo! It smells funny in here,” Nandor barely spares him a look as he drags his feet into the dim-lit dormitory, where his master’s barely rising from his coffin.

Guillermo swallows through a dry throat and pushes his glasses back up his nose. He hasn’t been in here today. 

“Ah, that’ll be the… dead body in the corner, master,” he provides, hoarse voice low enough that a normal human being would’ve probably asked him to repeat himself. 

There’s silence, and then Nandor turns to stare him down with a frown.

“I’ll get rid of it in a minute,” Guillermo says, “I was just wiping down this huge pool of blo–”

“Guillermo!” 

The familiar stops in his tracks at the accusatory tone.

“Ye–,” another cough, except he manages to stifle down this one in the crook of his arm, “yes, master. Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, as I said, there was a bit of a mess in the–”

Guillermo trails off.

He trails off because Nandor is still as a corpse himself, and he’s looking at him with a new expression. 

He’s never seen him scrunch up his nose like that.

Right.

He probably smells quite uninviting himself, what with all his body juices and runny nose and one or two strangers’ blood all over his apron. Probably under his nails as well…

“Guillermo…” Nandor coos.

Nandor never coos.

The familiar swallows again through a painfully dry throat. Suddenly drier.

“What do you think you are doing? You are sick! You need to go to the hospital!”

Guillermo blinks. He fights down a smile.

“Oh, no, it’s fine master. It’s only a cold, I can–,” a sneeze. “I’ll get the–,” another sneeze. Another scrunch-up nose from his master. “Get the body.”

And he turns around to go do just that and he’s not sure if it’s his lethargic and delayed reaction span due to the cold, but Nandor’s next to him in the blink of an eye, so fast that Guillermo almost sways on his feet at having him so close all of a sudden.

“You will do no such thing!” Nandor exclaims, “look at you! You look half-dead! You will spread The Germs all over my sleeping quarters!”

“But… you don’t get infected,” Guillermo mumbles, and next he lets out a very silly laugh, fever-induced, that one, “you’re dead.”

“That is not the point, Guillermo!”

“Sorry, master.”

“Shoo, go get yourself one of those _paraceta-moles_ , I can’t have my familiar dying of the flu?!”

Guillermo lets himself be pushed outside. He’s got no energy left in him.

“It’s not the flu,” he adds. Nandor doesn’t listen, as per usual.

“Damn those Spanish people, bringing pestilence with them… I was never too fond of the likes of them.”

“Actually, you know that’s a common misconception, right?” 

“Ughh, no,” Guillermo grunts. He can’t help the grunt. Not today. It sounds a bit more like a whine as well, and less like an actual grunt. 

Colin ignores him too.

As Colin does.

“It being referred to as the ‘Spanish flu’ has nothing to do with it being Spanish at all. It wasn’t! In fact, it’s just that as Spain remained neutral during the bellic conflict of the First World War – which lasted from 1914 to 1918 for those of you less history-savvy – their press naturally took on the job of reporting the spread of the disease because the rest of the involved countries just wouldn’t do it. It was a question of keeping up the morale, you see. They still don’t know where the flu originated, in fact…”

Guillermo feels light-headed. 

He doesn’t hit the floor upon fainting only because Nandor’s behind him. Of course, when he wakes a couple of hours later, he’ll think he’s imagined it, him being carried bridal-style and his master hissing intently at their resident energy vampire and demanding he go get _A-spirins_.

“Colin Robinson! Look what you’ve done!”


End file.
